Can't Resist Noro

Why is Noro irresistible? After the ugliness of my very public breakup with Noro Silk Garden Sock, you'd think I'd run from Noro screaming.

So here's where I admit that I had the same problem with my first husband--couldn't live with him, couldn't let him go. That ended (thank God!) with marriage to #2, but there were days when I wondered if we'd be tied forever.

Whew! That felt good to admit, if a little embarrassing. But back to Noro.

There's a new term floating around Ravelry--Viral Knits. It's really about addictive, public relationships with yarn, and frankly, it sounds gross but it's kind of fun. Kind of like group sex but without the divorces and STDs. It's about those patterns that, one day, you've never heard of them and the next, everyone and their sister is wearing one. Except me. I'm always last to adopt a Viral Knit.

Come on-- you know the ones I'm talking about. Remember when EVERYONE made a Clapotis scarf? Not me.

Then we ALL had Monkey socks? Not me. Pomotomous? Knot ... er, not me.

Central Park Hoodie? My So-Called Scarf? Icarus? No, no, no.

The latest is the February Lady sweater. When we were at SAFF this year, there was a positive buzz around the fairgrounds about the FLS. (Overheard at the Brooks Farm booth: "Did you see that February Lady?" "Yes, wasn't it gorgeous?" "Yeah, which of your yarns would you recommend for that pattern?")

Of course, I'm always the last to know and I couldn't figure out what the heck they were talking about. Finally, I saw two people walking near each other at the front of the building. They weren't together but their outerwear had a certain similarity and, good news, I knew one of the wearers. Could it be? I quickly stopped her and said, "Wow! I really love your ... (pause)" and she said, "Oh, my February Lady. Thanks!" Then I knew. Once again, I was behind the trend.

So, one of the big Virals this year is the Brooklyn Tweed Scarf by Jared Flood. And, of course, he used the dreaded Noro Silk Garden to make it--three separate colors, for God's sake.

But I'm just getting over being jilted by NSG. Could I try again? What if he ... did it to me again?

Let's just say, I'm in love, again. And, yes, it's my ex, Noro. And who wouldn't love him? And, yes, my friends are talking behind my back about my lack of control. Who cares? We're in love!

To prove my sanity, however, check this out. Dream in Color Smooshy (Pansy Golightly)--how gorgeous is that! My lovely friend Ellen gifted me with a skein of this last week and we had to wind it immediately--talk about the siren song! Then once I got home I HAD to cast on--it's my old friend Spring Forward socks, but toe-up this time.

(It's a fact--when you're going out with Noro, you gotta have someone on the side!)

And, yes, I do have yarn picked out from my stash for the February Lady. Unfortunately, by the time I get it made, there will be some new hot Viral and I'll be a HasBeen again. Oh, well .... c'est la vie.

New Knee, Same Old Brain

For those of you who have been kind enough to inquire about the status of Mr. Pug and his knee surgery:

Surgery (last Thursday) went well. The surgeons used a nerve block that worked like a champ. No pain, no swelling. With a few glitches which simply constitute TMI and won't be described here, he was soon walking the halls with the physical therapist and the walker.

The original plan was that he would go to 3-5 days of rehab in the hospital, but the workers compensation folks, who had agreed to pay for that, suddenly remembered it wasn't important and that was out the window. So, here we are at home. And life is exactly as I knew it would be.

So, what are you complaining about, sister? (I'm not talking to myself--I'm responding to my friend who told me to "put on your big girl panties" and suck it up. She thinks I'm whining because I'm having to nurse a whiny little old fart. Nope! Not even!)

You don’t understand—my problem isn’t that Mr. Pug is whiny or in unbelievable pain or requiring me to wait on him hand and foot. No, thank you, he’s doing very well.

In fact, my problem is that he’s so active that I’m scared to death that he’ll (a) trip over a dog and fall down the stairs—yes, he’s practically running up the stairs, down is a little slower, (b) throw a clot because he’s walking around without his brace or his “clot-preventing” stocking, (c) fall and pop his stitches because he’s not using a walker or a cane—just wandering around, 6 days after surgery, or (d) burn himself cooking dinner because, well, because he can. (So far he hasn't ventured to the grill in the back yard or gotten up on the ladder to clean out the gutters, but I'm sure that will be today's contest.)

He’s so busy proving he’s the biggest, baddest bear in the forest that he’s driving me nuts. “Must take care of woman—especially that woman who’s clearly incompetent to take care of herself.” And "must not ask for pain medicine--that would show weakness. Must get it myself, even if I groan all the way to the prescription bottle."

So, we get home on Monday night, about 6 pm. (Yes, they did say to come at noon to pick him up. Yes, they did say it would take "a little while" to get the discharge coordinated. Yes, he did decide there was no point in ordering lunch since we'd be on our way soon. Yes, the guard downstairs did tell me to park my car in the "30-minute pick up and delivery of patients area--we will tow your car at 31 minutes." (I'm not that stupid, thank you!)

Anyway, we stop for the obligatory McDonald’s snack and then he, the man who didn’t eat even one complete meal in the hospital, comes home and wolfs down spaghetti and meat sauce and garlic bread. I finally convince him to go to bed, with only one dog. Then about 11:30 I hear a noise downstairs—I race down and find him (and the dog) standing with the walker in the kitchen fixing a big bowl of ice cream. He and dog eat ice cream. Get him back to bed, with the dog (Lucy, if it matters).

1:30 AM – noise downstairs. I run back down the stairs to find him, standing without his walker, letting dog out onto the back porch. Back to bed, with dog. No brace, no stocking—they were irritating him. I’d like to irritate him!

7:00 AM—go to kitchen. Find man and dog in chair waiting for me to bring coffee and paper. Fix him his coffee. Resist impulse to throw coffee on him. Why waste good coffee?

9:00 AM—watch him sprint upstairs. No walker, no cane, no stocking, no brace, no nothing.

11:00 AM—leave, in high dudgeon, swearing never to return. Cell phone not working—I remind him to call 911 if he falls or if the “big one” strikes. I rehearse what I will say to police when they tell me where to pick up his body. "I just went out to get more pain medicine for him," I will say. "Poor guy," I will say. "I'm sure it was quick, that he felt no pain," I will say.

2:00 PM—I call. He’s napping with dogs. “I’m fine, thank you. Have fun shopping.” Hang up cell phone, throw across car.

4:00 PM—I return. He’s fine. Has eaten the lunch I left out for him. Has not started cooking dinner because he’s afraid it would make me mad. (No s&*t, Sherlock!) In the meantime, he’s moved back upstairs permanently, has his special pillow set up (thank you, Whit!), and is settled in there.

Fast forward to today—the visiting nurse is coming. He slept upstairs last night with all four dogs, came downstairs twice with them (I know because I slept on the couch to make sure he’s okay). He’s had his coffee and read the paper—he didn’t go to the street to get it when he got up because “I was afraid it would set you off again.” Good thinking, sport. He’s showering now, just told me to “come downstairs with a scraper if you hear a scream.” Whatever!

Now, for those of you who think I'm over-reacting. Yes, I'm happy that he's so resilient. Yes, I'm thrilled that he thinks he's the Bionic Man. Yes, yes, yes.

What you don't understand is that, in almost 25 years with this man, I've seen him do this before. But, of course, he was 25 years younger. (I was 35 years younger--that's one of the prerogatives of being a woman.)

So I know that the end result will be that he will heal very quickly, he'll stop doing his exercises early because he's so strong and invincible, and, finally, he'll go back to work long before he's actually ready. Then I'll start hearing how the surgeon must have screwed something up, because he's got pain in his knee. Within a year we'll be doing the other knee, which will have gone bad trying to overcompensate for this one.

He's (splutter, curse, splutter) fine. Today. As for me, I'm a nervous wreck--I haven't had a full night's sleep in 7 days and I'm just dreading the day he thinks he can drive--probably tomorrow.
I'm not a nurse--I'm a prison guard. An inept prison guard, inadequate to the job.

Okay, he's returned from the shower, struggling for breath but clean and dressed. I told him I was blogging about him and he said, "you can just tell them I'm a stubborn, ill-willed, nasty old man." Done!

Arggghhh!

Toe Up ... What Else?

This makes me smile ... hell, it makes me laugh out loud. In fact, I think if it doesn't give you at least a chuckle, you might have a serious problem, like being dead or comatose.

And right at the moment, not much makes me smile. We're in the middle of an economic recession (yes, the same one that our current administration said we hadn't entered yet, that one). Jobs are insecure. My 401(k) could fit into a coin purse. My savings are nonexistent. Unemployment is high, crime is higher, and we're still at war. Christmas is coming and I'm experiencing some serious grinchification.

But that sock would bring a chuckle to the most depressed economist, in my opinion.

It's Opal, of course. And I say of course because, let's face it, Opal yarn is one of the Wonders of the Western World. How could you not love something that's just so outrageously beautiful while also being dependable and knittable and wonderfully wearable and washable. Opal, I worship at your (sock-clad) feet.

And I like it best in a very simple toe-up pattern like the one above. The pattern is my own, adapted freely from the Gospels of Ann Budd and Wendy Johnson, to whom I owe my allegiance.

And what I love about these two women, who do not, I don't think, have any connection to each other at all, is that they are Technique people. And by that I mean that, once you understand their methodology, you can adapt any pattern to it. Ann, of course, is seen quite often in the pages of Interweave Knits. Wendy can be found at www.wendyknits.net (thank you, Jane, for correcting me--you were right!) and has a new book, aptly called "Socks From The Toe Up," out soon.

Go buy some Opal, or dig some out from your stash--you know you have it! Then go to Wendy's blog and knit a toe-up sock. I promise you--you'll never knit one of those bulky slip stitch heels again.

Well, that's probably a lie. The pair of socks I just finished were cuff down and, in retrospect, the only possible reason I would knit cuff down again is to put on a picot cuff. But, since I've never yet knit a picot cuff, and have no immediate plans to do so, that probably won't constrain me in the future.

Amalgam

Today, an amalgam of miscellany. First, and not miscellaneous at all, it's Haley's 17th birthday, which is fairly amazing. Here she is at a recent soccer tournament with her dad. I love this picture! This weekend she's at another soccer tournament, this one in Raleigh, and that's why I'm missing her birthday. Well, I saw her last week so maybe that counts, but it doesn't feel like it.

Next, a picture just because I love it. Brandon, sleeping on the couch while they were all here last weekend, and Buddy, sound asleep atop him. Buddy is a very social dog and wants to be touching someone at all times. Normally, Brandon's good for a petting, but sleep does tend to preclude such things. In this case, Buddy was determined to be close to Brandon even if Brandon wasn't aware of it.

Next, a rare three-fer of Lucy, Lulu and Buddy. It's very hard to get a picture of any one of them and three is magical. In this picture, Bluto is probably trying to get a nap away from the rest of us. (And, yes, those are Mr. Pug's legs on the right. Enjoy the sight of them vertical--after next weeks' knee surgery, you may only see horizontal pictures of those legs for awhile.)

Next, an actual Finished Object. These are Spring Forward from Knitty.com socks out of Trekking yarn. I love the lacey pattern but these socks reminded me that I really hate cuff down socks. Actually, I was fine with them before I learned how to knit socks toe up, but now they just seem like old technology, like playing Pong on an old Atari. I hate kitchenering and I hate having to adjust the instep for the heel height and really ... I just need to make these socks again because I love the pattern but the next pair will definitely be toe-up.

Speaking of finished objects, here are some ... yes, I said SOME ... of the dressed teddy bears donated at this week's Atlanta Knitting Guild meeting. They go to (I think) the Dekalb County police department and are used with kids who've had traumatic experiences of one kind or another. Here are some more.

I never did hear a total number, but I'd guess there were over 200 donated. This has been one of the guild's major charitable efforts for many years and our members (myself excluded) are very creative. Usually it's all I can do to make a simple bear sweater--for some reason I just am not creative enough to figure out how to design around the bear anatomy--but I always enjoy seeing the creativity of others. Good job, guys!

Post-Holiday Blues

Okay, the Thanksgiving holiday is over and I’m recovering. We truly had lots to be thankful for this year, with the house full of daughters and grandchildren and significant others and dogs and granddogs. Lots of food, lots of noise, laughter, a few raised voices but not too many. And now it’s quiet again. Mr. Pug and I and the four pugs are back to our peaceful existence.

So why do I feel like something’s missing?

Well, that’s easy. It’s because I’ve had to learn to use my bathroom by myself again.

Yes, after only a few days of having my family around, I’m back to solitude in the bathroom, and it already feels weird.

I know… all you folks who haven’t had children are wondering if I’ve lost my mind, and that’s definitely the subject of another posting. But you parents … you know what I’m talking about.

Once I had children, a few decades ago, I seldom experienced the peacefulness of a quiet trip to the loo by myself. I would sometimes read about people who took their newspapers to the bathroom for a quick read. Or folks who kept a good book and a candle by the tub for those peaceful moments of relaxation. Not in my house. There always seemed to be a kid talking to me about some critical matter while I tried to find a moment alone.

And grandchildren kept up the tradition. How do people who don’t even live with you somehow know they can pop in to ask a question just as you’re turning on the hair dryer or stepping out of the shower?

Now, mind you, husbands and semi-spouses can be trained. You just lock the doors a few times and most of them get the message. Not your kids—mine seem to be able to pick locks or maybe they just wave a magic wand over them. Who knows how they get in? I certainly don’t. One minute you’re thinking you’ve got enough privacy to try out that new eye shadow and the next minute you’re defending your choice of green over brown eyeliner.

So… it’s very quiet. And I’m trying to acclimate myself to the silence. This morning I dried my hair and didn’t have to explain to anyone why I still use such an old school hair dryer (because I like it, that’s why, and besides it still works) and no one asked why I wear granny pants instead of a thong (because they feel good, that’s why) and no one told me that I really should give up using my old cologne and try something newer and no one borrowed my moisturizer.

Gosh, it was quiet. And a little lonely. I hope they come back soon.

Intelligence Without Discipline? What Good Is It?

Your result for The Best Thing About You Test...

Intelligence

Intelligence is your strongest virtue

Intelligence (also called intellect) is an umbrella term used to describe a property of the mind that encompasses many related abilities, such as the capacities to reason, plan, and solve problems. And you? Your brain shines. All 7 virtues are a part of you, but your intelligence runs deepest.

It is likely you're a smarty-pants. And it's likely (but not necessary) that your discipline score is high also. It takes a certain resolve to maintain all those neural thingies.

Intelligent famous people: Einstein, Shakespeare, Da Vinci.

Your raw relative scores follow. 0% is low, and 100% is perfect, nearly impossible. Note that I pitted the virtues against each other, so in some way these are relative scores. It's impossible to score high on all of them, and a low score on one is just relatively low compared to the other virtues.

YOUR VIRTUES

50% Compassion

67% Intelligence

63% Humility

44% Honesty

0% Discipline

29% Courage

25% Passion

Take The Best Thing About You Test at HelloQuizzy

Yes, We Can

As I watched video footage on CNN of jubilated revelers singing and dancing on U Street in Washington, DC last night I had a strong, vivid memory of U Street in April 1968—ablaze with hot and angry and disappointed men and women, looting and destroying in the wake of Martin Luther King’s assassination days before. Then, it seemed that hope had died with Reverend King. Now, it seems that hope is alive again.

Is it? Forty years later America has elected its first African-American president.

Amazing.

A huge bloom of first-time voters, young enough that King is only a black-and-white photo in a textbook, young enough that they never saw water fountains labeled “Colored” or restaurants with signs proclaiming “White Only,” stepped up to make a change. And people my age, who do remember the inequities with embarrassment, signed on too. And even some elderly people, some of whom remember the days when women couldn’t vote and some who have had their retirement savings shaken recently, voted for change.

Amazing.

But for me, the most amazing part is that, while race is perhaps the most visible element in this historic election, the election really wasn’t about race. It was about moving on, which is what Americans do best. For over 200 years, we have celebrated and wept, we have been driven to our knees by wars and recessions and even terrorism, and each time we’ve changed for the better.

The past few months have seen an ugly campaign. But now it’s time to move on. It’s time to put aside negativity and celebrate our ability to participate—one way or another—in a truly historic event. Yes, we can.